


Come the Dawn

by Shadaras



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Background mentions of: Kel - Buri - Evin Larse - Shinko, Community Resources, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: Lalasa gently refused to budge on helping those who didn’t have any other times they could learn.Lalasa moved between the pairs, adjusting a grip here, feet there, and letting herself sink into the comfort of the work. It was different from the gentle flow of sewing, but being able to see how Peony stopped and reset her feet between each attempt now, or how Gwyneth spent a full minute trying to get just the right angle to break Tasha’s grip—she was proud of them, and of the confidence she saw growing in their bodies as they got it right more and more often.





	Come the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merriman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/gifts).

The weekend dawned sunny and bright, and Lalasa was already awake to see it set the late autumn’s frost into glittering light. She set a last set of stitches into her current project—a New Year’s festival dress for Shinko, who had refused to allow Lalasa to use call her by anything but her nickname since her wedding—and then put it aside, murmuring the keyword for the magelights she was almost used to having so freely available and letting them fade now that the sun was rising.

This late in the year, Tian was also already up when the sun rose, but Lalasa had never quite been able to shake her lady Kel’s habit of getting up earlier than necessary, even after so many years apart. With the Scanran War ended, however, she might be able to visit for the holidays, if she could tear herself away from her people. Lalasa smiled at the thought, and followed the smell of frying onions into the kitchen, where Tian was cooking breakfast for them both.

Lalasa greeted her partner by wrapping her arms around Tian’s waist and pressing her face into the hollow between her shoulders, savoring her warmth. Tian laughed and patted her arms with her free hand before returning her focus to the skillet, where onions and peppers mingled and some eggs sat, waiting, off to the side. “Are your girls showing up today?” Tian asked.

“I expect so.” Lalasa pressed a kiss to Tian’s neck and moved over to peer out the window. “They aren’t here yet, though.”

Tian laughed. “Most girls aren’t excited to get up at dawn and get bruised.”

“Most _boys_ aren’t either,” Lalasa pointed out. It was an old conversation, well-worn into their weekend routine by now: Tian angled for Lalasa to stay inside longer and spend some time together before she taught her earliest-morning class for the girls who had work and chores they couldn’t miss later in the day; Lalasa smiled and gently refused to budge on helping those who didn’t have any other times they could learn.

Tian removed the now-scrambled eggs from the fire and began building it up for the large pot beside her on the counter. “I’ll bring tea and porridge when you’re finishing up,” Tian said. “I know those girls don’t eat enough.”

Lalasa nodded, taking a small plate of eggs for herself. She knew people who could and would practice fighting on an empty stomach—and she knew that she wasn’t like that herself, especially with such an avid class that she didn’t need to do much herself, other than just watch. Tian ate more, chattering about projects they were working on together and clients who might be commissioning them soon and all the other light topics that usually dominated their breakfast conversation. Lalasa answered absently, keeping half an eye out the window for the earliest arrivals of her class.

The first pair to show up was almost always the baker’s children: Eline, a fierce nine-year-old girl, and her sixteen-year-old brother, Benny, who came along partially as chaperone and partially to get beaten up by the class. They showed up as soon as the second round of buns and loaves were in the oven, and heralded the arrival of the rest of her class, who were drawn by the scent of fresh-baked scones that they always brought with them.

Lalasa smiled at the sight of their bright but flour-speckled coats and rose, slipping on her own autumn jacket; lovely soft mossy velvet embroidered with multicolored umber leaves, edged and lined with russet wool, and fastened with gold-plated buttons embossed with an acorn pattern. Tian had given it to her two years ago as an anniversary gift, joking that maybe sometimes she would want to hide again—because Lalasa now mostly wore bright colors and deep jewel tones, every outfit an advertisement of her skill—and, though this jacket was more subdued, Lalasa loved slipping it on and feeling not just the fabric’s warmth but Tian’s love in every stitch.

Her skirt swirled in the morning breeze as Lalasa stepped outside and called greetings to the siblings. They gave her courtesies as they responded, which Lalasa was resolutely used to, as much as it still surprised her. Lalasa joined Eline in pulling out the varied collection of staves that Queen Thayet and the Riders had helped her acquire as soon as Buri had figured out what she was doing. Sometimes the girls took them home, if they needed them and thought that it wouldn’t get them in trouble, and when that happened there was always a replacement, no questions asked, within a week.

When Lalasa caught the Riders who brought the replacement supplies, she protested, because she had the money to pay. They always shrugged, and told her “Commander’s orders,” and when she had marched up to Commander Larse, he refused to accept her coin. Once, he'd told her that Buri had earmarked funds for her training supplies and since the Queen was more than happy to keep paying those funds, Lalasa could take it up with her if she wanted. Lalasa hadn’t, yet, but sometimes she thought about it, during long consultations about the Queen’s wardrobe that she was mostly not nervous about anymore.

Benny passed out cheese-topped apple scones to the girls as they showed up, just as patient with little Peony, who was barely eight, as he was with Dea and Josie, who were around his age and always tried to make him blush. They were succeeding today, Lalasa noticed, fighting back a smile as she raised her voice over the girls’ chatter. “Once you’ve finished chewing, make lines and start your warm-ups—Gwyneth can lead today.”

The dark-skinned girl she’d singled out ducked her head, but Lalasa saw the big smile on her face as she stepped to the front of the group and waited, braids bouncing with colorful ribbons. The other girls lined up, and Gwyneth got them moving in the series of stretches that Lalasa had figured out first from watching Lady Kel as a page, and then refined later, when Buri decided to bring her to select parts of Rider Training so that she could get more of a feel for the movements herself. “If you’re going to teach those girls,” Buri had said, fierce and proud, “then I’m going to make sure you’re damn good at it.”

Once they’d stretched, Lalasa paired them off to practice breaking grabs to their arms. “Go slowly right now,” she told them. Some of the girls sighed, a couple rolled their eyes—Lalasa shook her head at them, but they’d heard it a hundred times by now—but mostly she saw over a dozen intense eyes watching her. “Focus on getting your movement right, not on making it hurt. After your body knows the pattern, you can speed it up without making it panicky. Panicky doesn’t work. So start slow. We’ll speed up later.”

Lalasa moved between the pairs, adjusting a grip here, feet there, and letting herself sink into the comfort of the work. It was different from the gentle flow of sewing, but being able to see how Peony stopped and reset her feet between each attempt now, or how Gwyneth spent a full minute trying to get just the right angle to break Tasha’s grip—she was proud of them, and of the confidence she saw growing in their bodies as they got it right more and more often.

She kept them on body work for long enough that even the older girls were starting to get antsy, wanting to stop just learning how to break grips and kick sensitive spots and move on to the staves sitting off to the side. Lalasa raised her voice over the grunts and yelps and said, “Time to take a break and drink some water. In five minutes, we’ll work with staves.”

The neat lines and groups the girls had been in dissolved instantly. Lalasa smiled as she watched the horde descend on the cistern and plain cups she kept in the courtyard and only watched well enough to make sure nobody stole the cups—though she had noticed that when some went missing, another few showed up, often mismatched. Lalasa suspected the girls did that, or maybe the temple, but she hadn’t asked either; it was better to accept that kind of blessing than to question it. Especially in summer, all her girls were grateful for the water—and they usually refilled the cistern again before leaving, too.

When the girls lined up with staves, Lalasa had them continue working on a solo practice form, linking together blocks and strikes to get their bodies loosened up for partner work. She liked this one, because it was self-contained: Only a step forward or back, and no wild swinging like some of the kata Lady Kel had shown her. It meant that the girls could be set loose to practice at their own paces, though Lalasa slowed down any of them who were flailing more than striking, because speed was only effective if you knew what you were doing.

“Or if you startle them,” Shinko had added once, when Lalasa had watched her practice _shukusen_ with her ladies after a fitting. “Even if you are not skilled, acting at all may drive them off if they expected helpless prey.”

Lalasa had shared that story with the girls, but never at the same time as she asked them to practice form over speed. They complained enough about not being able to go fast as it was. But they worked well, and they focused, and they had fun. When they moved to paired work, the girls tended to move more slowly even without Lalasa’s warnings; they’d all gotten bruised fingers at one time or another when they hadn’t set their block right.

By the time Tian emerged from the building that was both shop and home, golden hair pinned up and soft blue dress bright against the courtyard’s dirt and stones, most of the girls had shed any outer layer they might have had—the sun had come up well above the horizon, and fighting practice was sweaty work. Lalasa didn’t try to manage the rush to Tian’s pot of porridge any more than making sure the girls set their staves aside and didn’t run into close quarters with sticks.

The girls started trickling out again, after they ate and drank. Most of them left with a simple, “Thank you, Mistress Isran,” though some added, “Goddess bless you,” as well. All of the girls gave simple curtsies as they returned to their daily tasks. Eventually, the courtyard was silent but for the sparrows chirping along the walls and autumn-bare saplings, and Lalasa sat next to Tian, looking out at the slowly-busying street.

“They’re lucky to have you,” Tian said.

Lalasa smiled, and took her partner’s hand. “I’m just happy to pass on what I’ve learned.”

Tian squeezed her fingers and drew her up. “You’re so humble, dearest.” She kissed Lalasa’s cheek, and Lalasa leaned into the touch, leaning against Tian’s solid shoulder. Tian put her free hand on the crown of Lalasa’s head, stroking down her hair until she reached the nape of her neck. There, Tian’s hand stopped, finding sweat-tacky skin. “Now go clean yourself; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Lalasa laughed, and pressed a kiss to Tian’s smiling lips. “You’ll get the courtyard settled away?”

“I always do.” Tian squeezed her fingers one more time before releasing her, and Lalasa turned away to begin the second, and no less important, part of her day.


End file.
